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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690007">Not Your Mother's Pottery Class</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeaverofWorlds/pseuds/TheWeaverofWorlds'>TheWeaverofWorlds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clay Birds of A Feather [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Losers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Bisexual Stan Uris, Flirting, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Smut, Top Bill Denbrough, bill is a pottery instructor, bottom Stan Uris, pottery class</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:20:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690007</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWeaverofWorlds/pseuds/TheWeaverofWorlds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan's friends worry that he has been single for too long, so Beverly signs them up for a pottery class. There he meets Bill Denbrough, the hot pottery instructor, and struggles with the immediate attraction he feels for the other man. Also who knew pottery could be so dirty?</p>
<p>Or an excuse to write <em> Ghost </em> jokes for Richie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clay Birds of A Feather [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>79</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not Your Mother's Pottery Class</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late one evening, Stan was scrolling through his phone when he got a text message from Beverly.</p>
<p>Beverly: signed us up for a pottery class at the community center!! Saturday. Paid for it and everything so now you have to go</p>
<p>	Stan tried not to groan. He knew Beverly was trying to be helpful. She seemed to think he had trouble getting out and meeting new people. So what his last girlfriend had been eight years ago? He was doing perfectly well on his own. Between his friends and work Stan didn’t have time to meet anyone new. He liked his life the way it was.</p>
<p>	Also pottery for godsake? Why in the hell did she think that would be a good idea. She knew he didn’t have an artistic bone in his body and more than anything he hated getting dirty. But he didn’t want to waste money. It really was a lose lose situation.</p>
<p>	He replied that he was in.</p>
<p>	Later that evening, Richie came in with the biggest shit-eating grin Stan had ever seen on his face and that was saying something.</p>
<p>	“Beverly says you two are taking a pottery class,” Richie said in lieu of a greeting.</p>
<p>	Stan set his book down. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>	“Think you’re gonna have your Ghost moment?”</p>
<p>	“My what?”</p>
<p>	“The film with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze.”</p>
<p>	Stan stared blankly at Richie.</p>
<p>	“Stanny, are you telling me you haven’t seen Ghost?”</p>
<p>	“No.”</p>
<p>	“Oh my god, it’s a classic. We’re watching it right now.”</p>
<p>	There was no arguing with Richie when he was like this, so Stan just let it happen. It was easier like that. In the course of the next two hours he found out several things. Firstly, Ghost was not a classic. It was terrible. It was cheesy and predictable. And just plain dumb. It was exactly the sort of film Richie would like. Secondly, the moment Richie was referring to was one in which Demi Moore’s character was sitting at a pottery wheel and Patrick Swayze’s character came in shirtless and sat behind her. Their hands joined over the wet clay, fingers interlocking, in something which felt almost pornographic. And as much as Stan wanted to look away he couldn’t bring himself to. And Richie, with a crooked grin, seemed to know it.</p>
<p>	“So, what did you think?” Richie asked once the film was over.</p>
<p>	Stan rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I just wasted two hours of my life –”</p>
<p>	“Wasted? Stan, that was a masterpiece. Besides I’m just trying to prepare you for when you meet the hot pottery instructor –”</p>
<p>	“What do you mean hot pottery instructor?”</p>
<p>	“Oh um, nothing.”</p>
<p>	“Richie, you better tell me whatever you’re trying to hide.”</p>
<p>	“Beverly is going to be so disappointed in me.” Richie fiddled with his glasses to avoid Stan’s glare.</p>
<p>	“Richie...”</p>
<p>	“Fine! When she went to sign up for the class she met the instructor and she said he was cute. Just your type. That’s when she knew that she had to sign you up too,” Richie said.</p>
<p>	Stan’s annoyance deflated. “You know I love you guys, but I’m really okay with being single. I don’t need you two to keep trying to find me dates.”</p>
<p>	“I know, Stan. You’re a strong independent, Jew who doesn’t need no man or woman… but sometimes you get this look on your face. It’s like you want something, but you won’t speak up about it. You haven’t been serious about anyone since Patty, and that was junior year of high school. And Bev and I know that you sometimes have one night stands, and that makes the look go away for a little while. But they always come back, and when they do they’re more serious. We’re just worried that if you’re hurt you won’t speak up about it.”</p>
<p>	Stan was surprised that despite all of Richie’s bluster he could be so perceptive. He hadn’t known he had been so easy to read. He really didn’t need a significant other, but that didn’t mean there weren’t times he would get lonely. But there was no point in pinning his hopes to this mysterious pottery instructor. He even said as much.</p>
<p>	Richie smiled, “you never know, Stan. This class could be your Ghost.”</p>
<p>	“I sincerely hope not.”</p>
<p>	Richie just laughed.</p>
<p>–</p>
<p>	On Saturday, Beverly came to pick Stan up. She said it was to save gas, but Stan thought it was so that he couldn’t run away. She was dressed in paint splattered jeans and a ratty tank top. Her hair was kept back with a bright bandanna. While Stan knew that Beverly could be a fashion maven when she wanted to be, she looked at home in her old clothes. He admired her confidence. He felt self conscious in his own clothes as they were from when he did community service projects in high school. The jeans were faded and tight, torn at the knees. The shirt was a discolored Derry Tigers Athletics t-shirt that he had stolen from Richie back in the day. He felt vulnerable and longed for the comfort of khakis and a button down.</p>
<p>	“My two favorite boys!” Beverly said coming into their apartment. “Stan, you ready to go?”</p>
<p>	“I guess. It’s not like I have a choice,” Stan said.</p>
<p>	“You always have a choice. If you really don’t want to do this we can just go out for coffee and forget about it.” Bev had a careful frown on her face.</p>
<p>	“No. I want to see what the class is about. We should go so we aren’t late.”</p>
<p>	Beverly’s smile returned.</p>
<p>	“Have fun you two!” Richie said coming into the hall. “Bev, make sure he gets his Ghost moment.”</p>
<p>	“Ugh, enough of that. C’mon, Beverly.”</p>
<p>	Stan dragged Beverly away, but that didn’t stop her from laughing and promising Richie to do her best.</p>
<p>	Once they got to the community center Beverly led him through the halls to where the class was being held. The space was surprisingly large. In one corner was a kiln. On the wall by the door were shelves of fired works waiting to be glazed. Projects were marked by flags of bright tape which waved cheerfully in the air conditioning. Across from them were more counters holding finished works. Among the pieces were some potted plants. The wall behind the counters was made completely of large panes of glass which met the glass ceiling. Three quarters of the room was dedicated to work tables. The farthest quarter had several pottery wheels lined up in two rows forming a rough semi-circle. Even in the cool AC the room felt hazy and warm due to the unfiltered sunlight streaming in.</p>
<p>	Stan moved to inspect some of the work drying on the counter. There were pots and bowls of varying shapes and sizes. Nestled by some ferns were a series of whistles shaped like little birds. They were small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. The attention to detail was exquisite. Some had delicate swirling patterns which suggested feathers while others were painted with white paint. The painter’s tape label simply read <em>Denbrough Studios</em>.</p>
<p>	Other students began to drift in. In total there were about ten people there, everyone of them but Beverly and Stan were women over forty. Stan moved away from the little bird whistles to where Beverly was. She had picked two pottery wheels right at the front and center of the room. Stan would have preferred somewhere more inconspicuous, but just like with Richie sometimes it was just easier to accept the damage and move forward.</p>
<p>	Stan sat down just as the door opened admitting a tall young man. Under the natural light his hair was like darkly burnished copper. He strode confidently into the room, smiling easily at the people already there.</p>
<p>	“Hello everyone, my name’s Bill Denbrough, and I’ll be your instructor.”</p>
<p>	His voice was firm and gentle, and even though it was low it carried through the space. The other students moved to get to their pottery wheels. Beverly turned to give Stan a significant look but all he could think about were the little birds whistles on the sill. Was this man their creator? What magic did he have to imbue their little bodies with souls? He thought about the stories he had heard as a child about golems, clay figures which were given life and acted as protectors of the Jewish people during times of persecution. Did Denbrough possess this sort of magic too? His eyes studied Bill, resting particularly on those long delicate fingers. He gulped as he imagined what the other man might be able to do with them. God, now he was starting to think like Beverly and Richie. He ducked his head refusing to be caught staring.</p>
<p>	Bill had made it to the front of the room where there was a pottery wheel set up. He sat down at it, managing to tuck his long legs underneath himself with surprising grace.</p>
<p>	“Today we’re going to be making simple bowls,” Bill said. “First we’re going to get used to working with the wheel. So let’s start by turning it on. Use your toes to press the pedal on, off with your heel. The wheel should be going counterclockwise.”</p>
<p>	The class did as instructed and the wheels began to spin.</p>
<p>	“Now when you push it all the way forward it’ll go faster.” Bill demonstrated as he spoke.</p>
<p>	Some people tried it, and there was some nervous laughter about how fast the wheel was spinning.</p>
<p>	“Now that you have a handle on that, we’re going to prepare the wheel for the clay. We’re going to start by cleaning off your wheel. In front of you there is a bucket of water and a sponge. We’ll start by wetting the sponge and bringing it to where the clay will be.”</p>
<p>	Bill dipped his sponge into the bucket and pulled it out. Water dripped down his fingers. He squeezed out the excess before placing the sponge at the center of the wheel. His hand stayed still as the wheel spun, doing the work for him.</p>
<p>	“You’re staring,” Beverly whispered.</p>
<p>	Stan could feel the heat creeping up his neck as he hurried to catch up. He hadn’t meant to stare, but Bill could make anything look good. He looked around the room and realized that the rest of the class were certainly here for Bill’s charm rather than learning a new skill. At least he wasn’t alone in admiring their instructor, although he wouldn’t go as far as to say he was in good company. He realized that he had missed some of what Bill was saying and he tried to focus in on his words.</p>
<p>	“– we’ll be focusing on the first step which is throwing the clay. Now you’ll probably find it easier to just place the clay at center as when you throw it it’s very easy to miss and be off kilter.”</p>
<p>	“Could you demonstrate throwing the clay anyway?” The woman on the other side of Beverly asked.</p>
<p>	Bill let out an easy laugh. “Sure.”</p>
<p>	He started up the wheel and unwrapped a ball of clay. He seemed to study the wheel before raising his arm and dropping the clay. There was a satisfying thump as the clay hit the wheel. Once it had slowed to a stop everyone saw that Bill had dropped it perfectly center. There was some light clapping from the other women and Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at them.</p>
<p>	“Once you get your clay centered you’re going to want to secure it down. You’ll be throwing water onto it so it doesn’t dry out, and you want to make sure it doesn’t get underneath the clay as then it will just slide off.” Bill pressed his fingers against the base of the lump securing it to the wheel.</p>
<p>	There was the sound of rustling plastic as people unwrapped their clay. The clay felt cool and damp in Stan’s hands. He placed it on the center of his wheel before turning it on. He then applied pressure to the base of the clay where it met the wheel watching as it spun between his fingers. At this point, Bill was walking around making sure everyone’s clay was secure. As he passed by, Stan caught the scent of his cologne. There was a warm spiciness to it that had Stan’s heart double in tempo. He looked up and saw Bill watching him.</p>
<p>	“Very good.”</p>
<p>	Fuck.</p>
<p>	Bill moved on down the line. Stan wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through the rest of class.</p>
<p>	“Now we’re going to throw some water onto our clay,” Bill went back to the front of the room.</p>
<p>	Once more he dipped his hands into the bucket before sprinkling the water down on the clay. “We’ll start by squeezing the clay towards the center. Because it’s spinning you only need to apply two points of pressure, like so.”</p>
<p>	Stan watched as the clay grew under Bill’s hands. He couldn’t help but note the slightly phallic shape the clay took on. He licked his lips. God, this was terrible. Why was his mind betraying him right now?</p>
<p>	Bill wiped the excess moisture off his hands as he rose. He glanced at Stan before addressing the class. “Now it’s your turn.”</p>
<p>	Stan dipped his hands into the bucket before sprinkling the water over his clay. He wrapped his hands around the lump and started the wheel. He was reluctant to apply much force as he didn’t like the slimy feel of the wet clay. The lump wobbled a little under his hands.</p>
<p>	“Here,” Bill reached over and steadied Stan’s hands, evening out the pressure being applied to the clay. His hands were firm, molding Stan’s own around the clay. A spark ignited in Stan’s belly.</p>
<p>	“How’s that feel?” Bill asked. Stan tried not to shiver.</p>
<p>	“Better.”</p>
<p>	“Good. Sometimes all you need is a firm touch.”</p>
<p>	Stan swallowed, nodding weakly.</p>
<p>	Bill withdrew his hands and moved to help another student. Stan turned to see Beverly staring at him. She began humming under her breath and Stan recognized it as the song from that infernal film. God, even Ghost hadn’t prepared him for how sensual pottery was – and Patrick Swayze was fucking shirtless in that scene.</p>
<p>	Next Bill demonstrated how to flatten out the clay. He allowed them some time to get a feel for the clay, raising it up and flattening out. Stan grew more comfortable with the feeling of wet clay under his hands. As people began to work with their hands there were wet sounds of clay and water which were entirely too sexual sounding for Stan’s liking. It was like no one even realized how torturous and teasing this was becoming. Even his body was beginning to betray him, sending some blood south. Thank god he was sitting behind a pottery wheel and didn’t need to stand anytime soon.</p>
<p>	Every few moments Stan couldn’t help but look over to where Bill was, helping other students, working on his own clay. He watched him, how deftly his fingers worked, how he laughed at something someone was saying. He felt a bit like a creep, but the obsessive animalistic part of him demanded that he track all of Bill’s movements and memorize them. He felt needy, like he needed to be fucked tonight. Preferably by Bill, but as that was unrealistic he would have to make do with whoever he could find at a bar or club. As his mind wandered down a garden path of nightly pleasures the class continued.</p>
<p>	“Once you’re satisfied with the shape you’re going to find the center of the clay and using your thumb create a little divet. Then you’re going to plunge in with the tip of your thumb. You want to be gentle and firm.” Bill said.</p>
<p>	Fuck that sounded dirty. Stan wondered if Bill knew what he was doing to the class, how they hung on his every word. He wondered how Bill had no shame in using words that could easily take on dirtier meanings. </p>
<p>	“Next you’re going to want to open the bowl up.” Bill worked as he spoke. “This can be done by using your left thumb. Press it out towards nine o’clock. Your right hand can help stabilize and apply pressure to your left. You don’t want to widen it too much as the sides may collapse over the base. Remove your thumb as your wheel is still turning.”</p>
<p>	Bill demonstrated how to raise the walls of the bowl by pinching at the base of the bowl. He then moved his fingers slowly up as the bowl continued to spin. When he was done it looked like a short piece of pipe. He then moved around the room to watch the class work.</p>
<p>	Stan tugged gently at his clay and watched it rise. His shoulders were tense as he worried he might overstretch the clay. When he was done his clay looked much like the demonstration. He turned to watch Beverly work. As she pulled her hand away she pinched the clay a little creating a little raised scallop.</p>
<p>	“Do you want me to try and fix it?” Bill asked moving to her.</p>
<p>	Beverly smiled up at him. “What if I want to keep it? Make it part of my design?”</p>
<p>	“Then embrace it.” His tone reflected back the warmth of her smile.</p>
<p>	“Okay. Yeah. Then I think I will.”</p>
<p>	As Bill left her, Beverly shot a look over to Stan. He tried to school his expression. It was stupid to be jealous of your best friend. He guessed he didn’t do it quickly enough because Beverly looked entirely too satisfied.</p>
<p>	Bill returned to the front of the class. He showed them how to use a tool to make their bowls look like bowls rather than jars. It was here that people began to individualize a bit more. Stan chose to keep his more like a soup bowl with high walls and a shorter base. Beverly opened hers out, almost creating a platter, and gave it a tall base. It wobbled on the wheel giving it a charming and whimsical tilt. Whereas Stan’s looked almost factory-made in its precision, Beverly’s mirrored her own artistic soul. Stan envied her.</p>
<p>	“That’s beautiful,” Bill said as he passed Beverly.</p>
<p>	“Thanks!”</p>
<p>	He came to Stan’s and paused. “This is amazing.”</p>
<p>	“You don’t have to say that.”</p>
<p>	“The precision is remarkable. Is this your first time making pottery?”</p>
<p>	“Yeah.”</p>
<p>	“You’re a natural.” Bill smiled at him.</p>
<p>	“Maybe. But I’m not an artist. I could never create something like your birds.”</p>
<p>	“You saw those?” Bill asked.</p>
<p>	“They’re stunning.”</p>
<p>	Bill’s smile softened becoming more real. “I’m glad you like them.”</p>
<p>	Stan nodded, unsure what more to say. Bill moved on to the next student.</p>
<p>	Once Bill had finished his round he made some closing remarks. He asked everyone to write their name on the painter’s tape at their station as that would be used to identify their pieces once they had been fired. He then thanked everyone for their time, praising them for their work. He finished up by saying, “I’ll see you all next week.”</p>
<p>	The rest of the class began to pack up their things. Some went to one of the large sinks in the corner to wash the clay of their hands. But a majority of them went to talk to the teacher. Stan watched for a moment as grown women, some old enough to be his mother, were primping and acting like smitten teenagers. He turned to Beverly who was doing anything not to draw his attention.</p>
<p>	“Next week?” He asked.</p>
<p>	“What, Stan, are you trying to tell me you didn’t have fun?”</p>
<p>	“No.” He could feel the blush returning.</p>
<p>	“So what’s the issue?”</p>
<p>	 “Why didn’t you tell me this was a two session course?”</p>
<p>	“Didn’t want to scare you away.” She shrugged.</p>
<p>	If looks could kill, Stan would be out one best friend. Luckily for Beverly he did not possess that power.</p>
<p>	“I need a drink.”</p>
<p>	“I think Richie and I can help with that,” she said brightening immensely. “But first why don’t you go thank the teacher for his class.”</p>
<p>	“What?”</p>
<p>	“All the rest of the students are.”</p>
<p>	“Beverly, they are making fools of themselves.”</p>
<p>	“Yeah and Bill is clearly uncomfortable. Go rescue him.”</p>
<p>	“Sometimes I really hate you.”</p>
<p>	“I’ll go wait outside.”</p>
<p>	“Beverly!”</p>
<p>	“We can go get drinks after. I promise. Just go talk to him.”</p>
<p>	“This is inappropriate.”</p>
<p>	“The way you were staring at him was inappropriate if you don’t go introduce yourself. Now go.” Beverly gave him a little push before going to the door.</p>
<p>	Most of the women had left and Bill was starting to pack up his own things.</p>
<p>	“Hi,” Stan said.</p>
<p>	“Hey.”</p>
<p>	“I just wanted to come introduce myself, and thank you for the class. I’m Stan.”</p>
<p>	“Nice to meet you, Stan. I don’t usually get a lot of guys in the class. What made you want to take it?”</p>
<p>	“My friend, Beverly, signed me up without telling me. But I’m glad she did.”</p>
<p>	“Yeah?” Bill smiled.</p>
<p>	Stan nodded.</p>
<p>	“Well it was nice having you. I look forward to seeing how your bowl turns out next week.”</p>
<p>	“I meant what I said,” Stan blurted out before he could stop himself. “About the birds. You’re a wonderful artist. There’s a sensitivity and soulfulness to them. They’re beautiful.”</p>
<p>	Bill’s surprise softened as his teacher persona was replaced by his genuine self. He was letting his guard down, but before he could say anything Stan said a hasty goodbye and walked away. If Bill rejected him now he didn’t think he could face him next week. What he did was self preservation.</p>
<p>	As he left the classroom it took all of Stan’s willpower not to look back.</p>
<p>– </p>
<p>	Richie met them at their favorite bar. It was still early yet, so the place was mostly empty. They sat at their usual booth.</p>
<p>	“So how was the class?” Richie asked.</p>
<p>	“Stan’s got a crush on the teacher,” Beverly sang.</p>
<p>	“Shut up.”</p>
<p>	“Really?!”</p>
<p>	“I do not.”</p>
<p>	“You so have the hots for Mr. Denbrough.”</p>
<p>	“Ew, don’t call him that.”</p>
<p>	Beverly laughed and wrapped her arm around Stan. “You are so wound up sometimes.”</p>
<p>	“Maybe he needs to get laid,” Richie said.</p>
<p>	“Beep beep, Trashmouth.” Stan said.</p>
<p>	“That’s one weak comeback, haven’t heard it since we were kids. So you know I’m right.”</p>
<p>	“Absolutely not.”</p>
<p>	“So you’re saying if Bill walked in this bar right now and asked to blow you in the bathroom you wouldn’t go?” Beverly asked.</p>
<p>	“Beverly! NO!”</p>
<p>	“Methinks the Jew doth protest too much.” Richie said.</p>
<p>	“I just met him.” Stan said.</p>
<p>	“You don’t have to know his life story to want to fuck him,” Beverly said.</p>
<p>	“Oh my god. How are you two my only friends?”</p>
<p>	“Shut up, you love us,” Richie said.</p>
<p>	“Yeah if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t even be having sexual fantasies about Bill right now.”</p>
<p>	“I am not having sexual fantasies about Bill right now.”</p>
<p>	“You said right now, so what about tonight?” Beverly asked.</p>
<p>	Stan ducked his head. “It’s more than that. I don’t want to sleep with him. I want to get to know him more.”</p>
<p>	“Oh my god, Stan, I was teasing. I didn’t think you had it this bad,” Beverly said.</p>
<p>	“Didn’t think it was possible because it’s been so long?”</p>
<p>	“You know that’s not what I meant,” Beverly said becoming serious.</p>
<p>	“Except for a couple of one night stands you haven’t been seriously interested in anyone since Patty. So yeah maybe we’re surprised,” Richie said.</p>
<p>	“I was focused on school. Dating wasn’t a priority.”</p>
<p>	“So what’s changed?” Richie asked.</p>
<p>	Stan shrugged. “Well for one we graduated. And I don’t know. I guess I’m curious about Bill. I want to know more about him, and I think I’m ready for a relationship.”</p>
<p>	“Hell yes, Stan. Time to get you back in the game!” Richie said kicking Stan’s foot under the table to show his excitement.</p>
<p>	“So for next week we’ll come up with a game plan –” Beverly started, but Stan was already shaking his head.</p>
<p>	“I don’t want a plan. I want it to just happen. If it’s meant to be it’s meant to be.”</p>
<p>	“Okay, Stan. Whatever you want.”</p>
<p>	After a couple of moments Richie turned to Stan, “so did you have your Ghost moment?”</p>
<p>	Stan groaned causing his two friends to laugh.</p>
<p>	They stayed at the bar for another two hours enjoying drinks and each other’s company. Stan tried to ignore the desire which burned at his belly, begging him to find someone to fuck. He tried to focus on Richie’s story about the record shop, or Beverly’s latest design ideas. Several times he made eyes with men at the bar, but instead of pursuing them all he could think was they weren’t Bill. If Richie and Beverly noticed his distraction they were polite enough not to say anything. </p>
<p>	Eventually, they went their separate ways. Richie had other plans which meant that Stan had the place to himself. Part of him wondered if he should go out to the clubs and try to bring someone back, but another part of him knew he wouldn’t be satisfied.</p>
<p>	That night when Stan came in his hand it was Bill he was thinking about.</p>
<p>–</p>
<p>	Stan spent the entire week thinking about Bill. He imagined scenarios where he and Bill were able to talk, where he could ask him about his personal life without being awkward about it. He thought of little clay birds sitting on the sill. Sometimes Richie would ask him what he was smiling about, but Stan would never tell. In the evenings his thoughts were more debauched. He pictured Bill using his fingers to open him up before thrusting into him. Sometimes he pictured that Bill would take his time being gentle with him and showering him in adoration. Other times he imagined Bill fucking him roughly, leaving bruises and lovebites all over his body. Marking him. Claiming him. He didn’t know which fantasy he preferred. But the constant was Bill’s voice. Low, needy, rough with desire, wrecked because of him.</p>
<p>	The week passed slowly, and come Saturday Stan found himself wondering what to wear. Of course he should wear clothes that he didn’t care if they were stained and spoiled but he wanted to show Bill that he could be more. He wanted to impress him. Charm him. But Stan knew Beverly would laugh at him if he went in nice jeans and a button down. He would be like all the other bored housewives vying for Bill’s attention, and Stan definitely did not want to be like them. He settled for the same torn jeans and another one of Richie’s old band t-shirts. It would have to do.</p>
<p>	He and Beverly decided to meet at the community center, but in his nervousness to get ready Stan found himself arriving about half an hour before the class was scheduled to start. Instead of waiting around awkwardly in the lobby he headed to the studio hoping there wasn’t a class in session.</p>
<p>	He couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when he found the studio lights off. The place was empty. A small part of him, that he wanted to ignore, had hoped Bill might be there working on something. Stan felt awkward staring at the darkened classroom and pushed his way in.</p>
<p>	On the work tables were the bowls that had been made last class. They looked so different then the wet clay they had worked with before. Fragile. Stan hesitated before going to pick his own up.</p>
<p>	“Do you always wait around in dark classrooms?”</p>
<p>	Stan turned and found Bill leaning against the wall. He flipped on the overhead lights. The shadows flattened out. In the light, Stan was sure Bill could see him blushing.</p>
<p>	“Sorry. I know I’m early. I can go if you want –”</p>
<p>	Bill let out a warm laugh. “No it’s alright. I could use the help. C’mon.”</p>
<p>	Bill led Stan towards a closet in the back of the studio. He unlocked the narrow door before stepping into the room. It was much too small for Stan to follow so he waited just outside. Bill reached up for a box labeled “Glaze Samples I.” Even though he was tall, he had to stretch to reach the box, and Stan caught sight of Bill’s skin between the hem of his shirt and the top of his boxers. He quickly averted his gaze ashamed at the effect a few inches were having on him. Bill handed over the box, his hands brushing across Stan’s arms in the process, before going to reach another one. He then exited the closet and walked back over to the work tables.</p>
<p>	Stan set down the box unsure how to fill the painful silence that was drowning him when Bill asked:</p>
<p>	“Perambulatin’ Plants?”</p>
<p>	“Huh?”</p>
<p>	“Your shirt,” Bill said.</p>
<p>	Stan glanced down reading the faded green letters upside down. Blush rushed to his cheeks. “Oh. It’s my roommate’s college band. Um, he wanted to call it Walkin’ Weed but was outvoted.”</p>
<p>	Bill laughed. “That’s a shame. I wish I could have heard them. Were they any good?”</p>
<p>	“Surprisingly, yeah.” A fond smile tugged at Stan’s lips.</p>
<p>	“Did you play with them?”</p>
<p>	“The only instrument I can play is the flute, which according to Richie isn’t very punk rock. Besides I haven’t touched it since middle school band. I was the their manage though..” Stan tacked on as an afterthought.</p>
<p>	“They must have been lucky to have you,” Bill said.</p>
<p>	Stan looked away. “So how did you get into pottery?”</p>
<p>	“I’ve always been creative. I liked doing things with my hands. Clay seemed easier than stone.”</p>
<p>	Stan laughed, causing a smile to break out on Bill’s face.</p>
<p>	“So you have your own studio?” Stan asked.</p>
<p>	“Yeah. I do a pretty decent business, but the classes help supplement my income. Started out as a favor for a friend, but my classes are some of the most popular so if I quit now she would kill me.”</p>
<p>	“You’re pretty popular with the housewives.”</p>
<p>	“What? You mean they aren’t here to learn how to make bowls? I’m shocked.”</p>
<p>	Stan laughed again. Being with Bill like this felt easy. Natural.</p>
<p>	“I know they aren’t really interested in the craft. So maybe I flirt with them a little, but it’s harmless.” Bill shot a look at Stan that he couldn’t really interpret.</p>
<p>	“Right. Harmless.” Stan looked down.</p>
<p>	“Stan would you –”</p>
<p>	The door opened and the first of Bill’s students came in.</p>
<p>	Stan took a step back, since when had he and Bill been standing so close together? Bill moved as well to go greet the women coming in. Stan moved to an open stool wondering what Bill had been about to ask him. He tried not to get his hopes up. It was probably something mundane like can you move this box or something. There was no way Bill Denbrough had been about to ask him out.</p>
<p>	It wasn’t too long until Beverly came in. With her came a sense of ease and calm that had dissipated since the arrival of the other students.</p>
<p>	“Hey, Stan. Thought you were going to meet me out front.”</p>
<p>	“Sorry. I got here early and… It wasn’t like that.” Stan said quickly interpreting her hopeful look.</p>
<p>	“So you and Bill weren’t in here by yourselves?”</p>
<p>	“We were –”</p>
<p>	“And nothing happened?”</p>
<p>	“I’m not flirtatious like you or Richie.”</p>
<p>	“I know, but you’re just so adorable I don’t know how anyone could have resisted your charms.”</p>
<p>	Stan rolled his eyes. He hated being called adorable.</p>
<p>	Bill looked over at them curiously before going to the head of the table.</p>
<p>	“Alright, everyone, welcome back. So this week we’re going to talk about glazing your bowls. We have some samples in these boxes so you can chose whatever color you want. There are several different methods for application, which I will demonstrate for you. The first is painting it on.”</p>
<p>	Bill took a sample bowl and set it upside down on a turntable. He dipped a brush into a bucket of glaze and began spinning the turntable to quickly cover the bowl in glaze.</p>
<p>	“Now I didn’t do this on this bowl, but before you glaze you may choose to use a wax resist. This will protect any areas you don’t want to be glazed, exposing the natural clay.”</p>
<p>	“What do you recommend waxing?” one of the younger women asked fluttering her eyelashes.</p>
<p>	“I prefer waxed bottoms. A waxed rim can also be attractive.” Bill said directly to Stan. He felt his blood rush south. Bill then turned back to the woman who asked the question, “but it’s really up to you. It’s your artistic vision.”</p>
<p>	He smiled at her and that seemed to be flirtation enough. No one else but Stan, and possibly Beverly, seemed to catch Bill’s implications.</p>
<p>	“Another method is dipping your bowl. You want to be gentle with the tongs because if you squeeze too tightly you may break the bowl.” Bill took another sample bowl and using the tongs dipped it into the bucket of glaze.</p>
<p>	“Finally the last method is to pour the glaze into the center of the bowl. This gives it a really nice contemporary look.” Bill demonstrated the final technique. “I’ll allow you to pour through the glaze samples and find what colors you want. If you have any questions I’m happy to assist however I can.”</p>
<p>	The room broke out into chatter as the boxes were pulled open and the students began sorting through the glaze samples. The other students were constantly calling Bill over for consultation, allowing Stan and Beverly to work off on their own.</p>
<p>	Beverly settled on a muted gold and beige palette. Even so she still called Bill over. Stan watched her curiously.</p>
<p>	“How can I help?”</p>
<p>	“I just thought you could use a break.” Beverly smiled up at Bill.</p>
<p>	He laughed. “Is that so?”</p>
<p>	“Well if that feels unethical you could always help Stan.”</p>
<p>	“Do you need help?” Bill asked turning his attention on Stan.</p>
<p>	“Um…”</p>
<p>	“Mr. Denbrough?” another student called out.</p>
<p>	“Just a moment Mrs. Kersh. Stan?”</p>
<p>	“Blue or Red?” Stan blurted out.</p>
<p>	Bill looked at him curiously.</p>
<p>	“Which do you like more, blue or red?” Stan gestured somewhat apathetically to the two samples before him. One was a navy blue while the other was a deep red. Bill dragged his eyes over Stan, making him feel oddly vulnerable.</p>
<p>	“For you, red.” Bill said before walking over to Mrs. Kersh.</p>
<p>	“Oh my god,” Stan sunk onto the nearest stool.</p>
<p>	“Fuck, Stan. He wants you.”</p>
<p>	Stan was beginning to agree, and oh God what a delicious feeling.</p>
<p>	Bill helped everyone find the right glazes before going to the stereo and turning on some music. Everyone worked at their own pace. Beverly dipped her bowl in the beige, while using the gold on the inside. Stan used the wax resist and painted the rim of his bowl as well as the bottom, trying not to think too much. He then dipped his bowl in the dark red Bill had suggested.</p>
<p>	Beverly and Stan were finished relatively quickly, as most of the class seemed to be lingering. Once they had cleaned their stations, there was no excuse to stay.</p>
<p>	“Thanks again for the class,” Stan said trying not to feel disappointed.</p>
<p>	“Thank you for taking it.”</p>
<p>	“Mr. Denbrough –?”</p>
<p>	“One moment Sonia. Your pieces will be ready for pickup next week. Just go to the front desk.”</p>
<p>	“You won’t be there?” Beverly asked for Stan’s sake.</p>
<p>	Bill shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll be around. Now I really must go help Sonia. Why she insists on calling me Mr. Denbrough when I’ve known her son for years is truly beyond me. Goodbye you two. Hopefully we’ll meet again?”</p>
<p>	Stan nodded, noticing the warmth in Bill’s face before he turned back to the class.</p>
<p>	Stan was all but dragged out of the room, a small whine building in the back of his throat.</p>
<p>	Once he and Beverly were outside he let it all out.</p>
<p>	“Beverly, I have to see him again.”</p>
<p>	“I’m sure you will. I bet you can find his contact information on his website.”</p>
<p>	Stan groaned. “I don’t want to be a creep.”</p>
<p>	“You’re not. He’s clearly into you –”</p>
<p>	“I wish he could have given me his number,” Stan wanted to kick something – even if it was an immature outlet for his frustration.</p>
<p>	“These things have a way of working themselves out,” Beverly said.</p>
<p>	Stan glared at her. While it may be true it was not exactly the kind of advice he wanted to hear.</p>
<p>	“C’mon, Romeo. Let’s talk to Richie. I’m sure he’ll have some ideas.”</p>
<p>	“Oh no. We absolutely cannot talk to Richie.”</p>
<p>	“Why not?”</p>
<p>	“He’ll get it into his head that I’ll have to contact a medium or some shit to find out Bill’s number in a non-creepy, but totally more creepy than necessary way.”</p>
<p>	“Excuse me, what?”</p>
<p>	“There’s a medium in Ghost.”</p>
<p>	“Richie wouldn’t do that.”</p>
<p>	“Maybe not, but he’d come up with something equally as ridiculous and humiliating. I can’t tell Richie yet. Please, Beverly?”</p>
<p>	“Alright. We won’t tell him about what happened until you are able to get Bill’s phone number for yourself. Deal?”</p>
<p>	“Deal, thanks.”</p>
<p>	“Don’t thank me yet, Stan. You better not wait around or go at your usual snail’s pace. A man like Bill isn’t going to be single forever. And if you don’t do something about it I will. Understood?”</p>
<p>	“Jeez, Beverly. You’re worse than my mom.”</p>
<p>	“Shut up, I love your mom. We just want you to settle down with a nice Jewish –”</p>
<p>	“Bill isn’t Jewish.”</p>
<p>	“Don’t interrupt me. We just want you to settle down with a nice Jewish girl and start popping out grandbabies. Is that so wrong?”</p>
<p>	“You’re incorrigible.” Nevertheless Stan wrapped his arm around her shoulder.</p>
<p>	“Maybe, but you still love me,” Beverly laughed.</p>
<p>	“Yeah, I guess I do.”</p>
<p>	“You know you really should give Andrea and Donald a call.”</p>
<p>	“You’re on thin ice, Bev.”</p>
<p>	She shook her head, her laugh ringing out in the fresh air. </p>
<p>–</p>
<p>	The following week Stan got a call from Beverly.</p>
<p>	“Hey, the community center called. It sounds like they have our stuff for pick up. Do you want to go down together?” Beverly asked.</p>
<p>	Stan felt weak at the knees. He had thought about going to the community center countless times this past week just in the hopes of running into Bill. But something kept him from doing it. Call it his sense of pride or ego, but he didn’t want to come off as needy. Now that he had a reason to go he was terrified.</p>
<p>	“Um. Sure. Beverly.”</p>
<p>	“Stan, are you alright?”</p>
<p>	“Yeah. Fine.”</p>
<p>	“Okay, how about tomorrow?”</p>
<p>	“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” Stan hung up on her. She could text him a time later. He moved to his desk and opened up his laptop. He searched Denbrough Studios and went to the website. There were photos of some of Bill’s work. Each of his pieces had a personality and soul to them. Some were delicate and whimsical, while others were minimalist and utilitarian. But Stan’s favorite pieces were the birds. They reminded him of his childhood. The happiness and innocence of youth that was somehow both fragile and sturdy. Youth which made music clear and distinct like a flute. Delicate. Bill understood that, he must, if he could put it so clearly into his art. Stan wanted to know everything about him. God, he had it bad.</p>
<p>	The next evening Beverly and Stan stopped by the community center.</p>
<p>	“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist.</p>
<p>	“Hi, we were in Bill Denbrough’s latest class. We’re here to pick up our work,” Beverly said.</p>
<p>	Stan’s gaze swept the lobby searching for a particular redhead.</p>
<p>	“Can I get your names?” the receptionist asked.</p>
<p>	“Beverly Marsh and Stan Uris.”</p>
<p>	The young woman moved behind the desk and pulled out two brown bags which were stamped with Denbrough Studios. They thanked her moving away from the desk before opening the bags. The bowls had been wrapped in brown paper. As Stan went to unwrap his he felt something lodged into the mouth of his bowl. It was wrapped in a wad of brown paper. Curiously he unwound it revealing first a business card and second the smallest clay bird he had seen yet. The plumage and detail were magnificent.</p>
<p>	“Stan?”</p>
<p>	“It’s a bird.”</p>
<p>	“I can see that.”</p>
<p>	“Did – did you get one?”</p>
<p>	Beverly shook her head.</p>
<p>	“Oh.”</p>
<p>	“What’s the card say?” </p>
<p>	Stan forced himself to look at the card. Clearly it was one of Bill’s business cards as it showed some of his art as well as his website address. Stan turned it over. Written in a looping scrawl was Bill’s cell number and a note which read “Call Me.”</p>
<p>	“Oh my god,” Beverly began to laugh. “Guess we can tell Richie.”</p>
<p>	Stan nodded but he wasn’t really paying attention. His heart rate increased and all he wanted to do was get home.</p>
<p>	Beverly could sense his anxiousness and offered to drive him home. He knew it was difficult for her not to ask a million questions on the ride home. He appreciated her restrain. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, and honestly he didn’t think he could carry the simplest of conversations right now.</p>
<p>	When they got to his apartment, Stan struggled with his keys, first dropping them then he was unable to find the right one. Finally finding it he unceremoniously shoved it into the lock.</p>
<p>	“Hi Richie, bye Richie.” Stan said not even looking at his apartmentmate on the way to his room.</p>
<p>	“What’s got up his ass?”</p>
<p>	“Bill Denbrough. C’mon Richie. Let’s give Stan some alone time,” Beverly said.</p>
<p>	If Stan had bothered to look he would have seen Richie’s eyes widen comically before he shuffled to shove his feet into his still laced sneakers. It would have been hilarious and endearing, but Stan was in no state of mind to look. All he could fixate on was the card burning a hole in his back pocket.</p>
<p>	Faintly he heard Richie and Beverly leave. The silence which filled the apartment was momentous. It threatened to swallow Stan whole. His could feel his heartbeat. His fingers shook as he pulled out the card and dialed the number. As he waited for someone to pick up he berated himself. He should have texted first, should have thought up a plan. Why hadn’t he thought up a plan? It was too late now. Now Bill was answering.</p>
<p>	“Hello? This is Bill Denbrough.”</p>
<p>	“Stan Uris speaking.” He hadn’t meant for his name to come out like a squeak but just like coming up with a plan it was too late now.</p>
<p>	“I wondered if you would call.” Bill chuckled lowly and the blood, which Stan’s heart was working so hard to pump, all rushed south.</p>
<p>	“Hi.”</p>
<p>	“Hi.” God, Bill sounded amused. And if that wasn’t attractive, Stan didn’t know what was.</p>
<p>	He licked his lips struggling to find something to say. The silence between them was making him nervous. What if this was all a mistake? Stan blurted out the first thing he could think of. “This was easier when we were face to face.”</p>
<p>	“Oh?”</p>
<p>	“Yeah. I don’t know what to say to you when you’re not here.”</p>
<p>	“So pretend I’m there.”</p>
<p>	“That’s really… that’s not such a good idea.”</p>
<p>	“Why?”</p>
<p>	Stan swallowed. Bill really wasn’t making this easy for him.</p>
<p>	“You’re not anywhere inappropriate, are you?” Bill’s voice was low and teasing.</p>
<p>	“Such as?” Stan’s mouth was dry.</p>
<p>	“Oh I don’t know. A strip club?”</p>
<p>	“Why would I be calling you from a strip club?” Stan laughed. Some of the tension eased up.</p>
<p>	“I don’t know. You tell me. Why is it such a bad idea to imagine me there? With you. Where ever there is.” Stan could hear Bill’s smile. The smug bastard.</p>
<p>	“No reason.”</p>
<p>	“Okay good. So where are we, Stan?”</p>
<p>	“My bedroom.” The tightness in the pit of Stan’s stomach was returning.</p>
<p>	“Oh?”</p>
<p>	“Yeah.”</p>
<p>	“Anyone else in the house with you?”</p>
<p>	“No.”</p>
<p>	“Alright then. I guess we can talk about whatever we want. No fear or shame.” Bill’s voice lowered, “Do you want that, Stanley?”</p>
<p>	“Fuck.” Stan’s fingers fumbled at the buckle of his belt. He could hear Bill laughing in his ear.</p>
<p>	“Fuck you’re desperate for it, aren’t you.”</p>
<p>	Stan let out a moan.</p>
<p>	“Are you playing with yourself?”</p>
<p>	“Yeah.” Stan’s voice was breathless even as he squeezed his hard member through his underwear.</p>
<p>	“Fuck that’s hot. Get on your knees for me. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”</p>
<p>	“Yeah.”</p>
<p>	“Good boy.”</p>
<p>	Stan moaned.</p>
<p>	“Now stop playing with yourself.”</p>
<p>	Stan whined.</p>
<p>	“C’mon, sweetheart. Just for now. I’m going to make you feel so good. Okay? Can you put me on speaker? You said your apartmentmates are out?”</p>
<p>	Stan set his phone down switching it to speaker. “Yeah. It’s just us.”</p>
<p>	“Good. Now I want you to start sucking on one of your fingers. Pretend it’s mine. Show me how good you are with your mouth. Can you do that?”</p>
<p>	“Yes.”</p>
<p>	“Good.”</p>
<p>	Stan closed his eyes, pressing his right index finger to his lips. He pushed it in, sucking loudly on it so that Bill could hear him. He imagined it was Bill’s own, long, skilled fingers and that drew a loud moan from him.</p>
<p>	“Fuck, sweetheart. Add another. Can you do that for m-me?” Bill’s voice was uneven.</p>
<p>	Stan made a noise of affirmation before pushing his middle finger in as well. His tongue swirled around his digits as he hollowed out his cheeks. He enjoyed knowing what a debauched sight he made. Kneeling on the ground, his dick hard against his leg, soaking his briefs with precum. He was aching down there, but he didn’t dare to relieve himself. The wet sounds as he slurped on his own fingers combined with Bill’s unsteady breathing were driving him closer and closer to the edge.</p>
<p>	“One more, sweetheart. I know you can. You’re such a g-good b-boy.”</p>
<p>	Stan did as he was told, enjoying the control Bill exerted over him. It allowed him to turn off his overactive brain, if just for a little while. He trusted Bill. He didn’t need to worry or be in control. He could just let go and enjoy himself. Sometimes he needed to relinquish control, and Bill seemed to understand. </p>
<p>	Stan was beginning to feel an ache in his jaw, and his lips were feeling raw, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the waves of pleasure continued to wash over his body.</p>
<p>	“A-alright. Enough, sweetheart. I w-w-want to fuck you. Is that alright?”</p>
<p>	“Yes. Please.”</p>
<p>	Bill laughed. “Alright. Go get some lube. Then I w-w-want you on all fours.”</p>
<p>	Stan hurried to follow Bill’s instructions.</p>
<p>	“You ready?”</p>
<p>	“Yes.”</p>
<p>	“Alright. Start by p-preparing yourself. G-g-go slowly so you d-d-don’t hurt yourself.”</p>
<p>	Stan stripped out his underwear, lubing up his finger before reaching behind. He spread his legs further apart, arching his back. On display. All for Bill. As his finger circled his hole he shivered and let out another moan.</p>
<p>	“Fuck, Bill.”</p>
<p>	“Y-yeah. That feel good, sweetheart? Imagine it’s me. I’m opening you up nice and slowly. Feeling your t-t-tight heat. Watching as my f-f-finger disappears into your a-ass.”</p>
<p>	Stan let out a choked sound.</p>
<p>	“You look so p-pretty like that, sweetheart. All flushed and n-n-needy.”</p>
<p>	“Bill, please.”</p>
<p>	“Please what? U-use your w-w-words.”</p>
<p>	“I need more.”</p>
<p>	“Alright. Are your ready for another f-finger?”</p>
<p>	“Yes.”</p>
<p>	“Okay, add another.”</p>
<p>	Stan hissed at the larger intrusion. The burn wasn’t too bad, but he still needed to take it slow. He shifted around, angling himself to better hit his prostrate.</p>
<p>	“How’s that f-feel?”</p>
<p>	“So good. You feel so fucking good.”</p>
<p>	Bill growled at that. “Fuck. K-keep talking.”</p>
<p>	“Can you feel how tightly I’m squeezing around you. How I’m drawing you in. Fuck, Bill. I need you to fill me up. I want you to leave marks all down my body. Bruise me. I want you to claim me. I want to have trouble walking and sitting. I want to ache because of you.” </p>
<p>	Stan could hear wet sounds from Bill’s end of the line. The idea that Bill was getting off to this pushed Stan further. He grinded his hips back into his fingers, hitting his prostrate. Stan let out a strangled moan.</p>
<p>	“That’s it, sweetheart. Keep going. J-just like that.” Bill moaned.</p>
<p>	Stan added a third finger. His arm that was supporting him was beginning to shake so he dropped to his elbow. He tilted his hips up, presenting his ass. His back ached magnificently. The pain mixed with his pleasure.</p>
<p>	“Oh my god, right there. Please. Fuck. Fuck me, Bill. There. Right there.” He was babbling at this point, but that didn’t matter. It all felt so good. </p>
<p>	Bill’s encouragement edged him closer and closer to his orgasm. “Fuck, you f-f-feel good. Your hot asshole is milking m-me dry. You’re such a g-g-good little slut. Fuck, sweetheart. Look how pretty you are for me. On all f-f-fours. Your cock must be so hard and r-r-red. I bet it’s aching. Dripping with precum. All for m-me. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? Say you need me, baby. Say it.”</p>
<p>	“God, I need you. I need all of you. Please, Bill. Please.”</p>
<p>	“Good boy. So fucking n-needy. You make me feel so good, sweetheart. I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here. Fuck. I need you to cum for m-me, Stan. C-can you d-do that, sweetheart? Can you c-c-cum for me? I’m so f-f-f-fucking close. C’mon, sweetheart.” Bill was speeding up. Stan followed his lead.</p>
<p>	He drove his fingers into himself at a merciless pace. He could feel the beginnings of an orgasm, tightly coiled in his belly. His nerves were on fire, singing with electricity. There was an ache in his back and knees but that seemed only to add to his ecstasy. He drove his fingers against his prostrate again and again. Hitting it each time. Drawing closer and closer to his conclusion.</p>
<p>	“Fuck, Bill. I’m cumming.” </p>
<p>	Stan came untouched.</p>
<p>	Bill let out a cry, cumming seconds after Stan.</p>
<p>	Stan collapsed on his back. His body felt like jello, his tired brain wondered if this is how jellyfish felt all the time. If so maybe he wouldn’t mind being a jellyfish. Maybe he could be king of the jellyfish. Now wasn’t there an idea. He wanted to sleep, to just lie here and clean up later. It wasn’t in his nature. Usually he wanted to clean up immediately, but he was tired. However, before he could drift off there was something else that was tugging at his consciousness.</p>
<p>	“Sweetheart?” Bill sounded out of breath, and in the same boneless state of euphoria as Stan.</p>
<p>	“Mm?”</p>
<p>	“One l-last thing. I need you to clean yourself up. If I were there I would do it for you, but I’m not. Can you do that for me, Stan?”</p>
<p>	“Don’t wanna.”</p>
<p>	“C’mon. sweetheart. You’ll feel b-better. Please.”</p>
<p>	Stan groaned before getting up. He shuffled to his bathroom and wet a wash cloth. He wiped himself off before going to clean up the mess in his room. After throwing the wash cloth into the hamper he pulled on his comfiest sweatpants and hoodie. He crawled into bed, turning his phone off speaker.</p>
<p>	“Done?” Bill asked.</p>
<p>	“Mhm.” Stan curled up under his covers. Bill was right. He did feel better. He was perfectly prepared to go to sleep listening to Bill.</p>
<p>	“I’m sorry,” Bill let out a chuckle. “We’ve done this backwards. I meant to ask you out on a date before we…”</p>
<p>	“Do you regret –?”</p>
<p>	“NO! Absolutely not, Stan. It’s just you deserve better, you’re not just some booty call. I want to learn more about you, Stan. I want to know you. Fuck. I want you. In all the ways I can have you. This too.”</p>
<p>	“Yeah?”</p>
<p>	“Yes.”</p>
<p>	“I want you too.” Stan said. Sleep was beginning to tug at him pulling him under, but before it did he managed to ask, “will you go on a date with me, Bill Denbrough?”</p>
<p>	Bill let out a one of his warm rich laughs which Stan was beginning to love. “I’d like that.”</p>
<p>	“Good. Until tomorrow.”</p>
<p>	“Alright. Get some rest, sweetheart.”</p>
<p>	Sleep claimed Stan, but that was alright. He had pleasant dreams.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Pottery is given as a wedding present on the 8th anniversary. Today marks 8 years since I published my first fan fic. I've come a long way, and still have so much to learn. Thanks for joining me along the ride!!</p>
<p>I owe thanks to my mother for suggesting I write a fic to celebrate 8 years and to use pottery as the theme. Without her this fic would not exist. Although I don't think this is what she was expecting...luckily she'll never read it. But still. Thanks mom! Also thanks go to <em> The Try Guys Try Pottery </em> video for teaching me everything I know. Any error about the craft lies with me. And finally a huge thanks to the movie <em> Ghost </em>. I have yet to see it, but the meme-ability of that one scene is golden.</p>
<p>Please leave a comment below letting me know what you think. I hope you had fun!<br/>Yrs.<br/>TWoW</p>
<p>PS- in celebration of my anniversary I have also updated Come My Way and Bloody Noses &amp; Crack'd Crowns. Feel free to check them out. Enjoy!</p>
<p><strong> 12/15/20: </strong> thank you for all your interest in a part two. It has been <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084962"> posted</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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